San Bruno blast: 6 months later, scars slow to heal

Bob and Tina Pellegrini sit in their rented home, Tuesday March 8, 2011, in San Bruno, Calif. They lost their home at 1701 Claremont, in the PG&E pipeline explosion and are hoping to break ground with their building plans next month. " This place is ok, but it's not home," says Bob Pellegrini. less

Bob and Tina Pellegrini sit in their rented home, Tuesday March 8, 2011, in San Bruno, Calif. They lost their home at 1701 Claremont, in the PG&E pipeline explosion and are hoping to break ground with their ... more

Photo: Lacy Atkins, The Chronicle

Photo: Lacy Atkins, The Chronicle

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Bob and Tina Pellegrini sit in their rented home, Tuesday March 8, 2011, in San Bruno, Calif. They lost their home at 1701 Claremont, in the PG&E pipeline explosion and are hoping to break ground with their building plans next month. " This place is ok, but it's not home," says Bob Pellegrini. less

Bob and Tina Pellegrini sit in their rented home, Tuesday March 8, 2011, in San Bruno, Calif. They lost their home at 1701 Claremont, in the PG&E pipeline explosion and are hoping to break ground with their ... more

Photo: Lacy Atkins, The Chronicle

San Bruno blast: 6 months later, scars slow to heal

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At 6:11 p.m. today, six months to the minute after a Pacific Gas and Electric Co. natural gas pipeline blew up in a San Bruno neighborhood, survivors will gather to remember the eight people who died and to compare notes on a rebuilding effort that is only now gaining momentum.

The meeting spot - the intersection of Claremont and Glenview drives - sits in an altered landscape, with chain-link fences guarding 35 lots where homes once stood. Only wild grass grows there now.

A block away, the crater that opened when a piece of the underground pipe launched skyward remains exposed like a wound.

On Tuesday, a city-hired crew in a crane worked nearby on a retaining wall for a stripped canyon that once had eucalyptus trees and a playground. Still to come are new roadways and sidewalks. Painters, roofers and landscapers tended to damaged homes.

Terrible moments

Out for his daily jog in the coastal mist, Rick Silverman stopped to recall the Sept. 9 blast, which he said he witnessed as he opened a sliding door at his home. At that moment, residents were arriving home, eating dinner and settling down to watch the first game of the pro football season.

Feeling the fireball's heat on his face, Silverman was certain a plane had crashed. As he ran, he said, he thought of the chaotic opening scene of the television show "Lost," and about all the passengers who must be burned dead in the cabin.

"Mentally, we're all messed up, traumatized," said Silverman, 53, whose home suffered smoke damage but did not catch fire. "I mean, look what happened to our neighborhood. I used to take my kids hiking in the canyon down there. Now it's just a hole in the ground."

Changes are coming, but slowly. Residents said they were not prepared for the difficulty of negotiating with insurance companies, hiring contractors and figuring out what it all means to their taxes.

Every person who suffered damage received a hardship payout from PG&E. Some residents have pending lawsuits against the utility, and many in the neighborhood believe the company cut corners securing the pipeline.

Melted vinyl siding

Judy Anderson, a 65-year-old retiree, said she is nearly done fixing up her home after the fire melted her vinyl siding "like frosting on a cake." She added some of her own money to her insurance settlement, putting in new stucco, windows and shutters.

"It's like a brand new house dropped in," she said. "I'm very happy. I like the new look. But it's still hard to walk my dog and see all of the empty lots, where people I know used to live."

Aaron Aknin, San Bruno's community development director, said four families that lost homes had submitted plans to build new ones, and an additional dozen or so are close to doing so.

Three families, meanwhile, are still waiting for their old homes to be knocked down. Those structures - which were deemed unsalvageable but had to be scrubbed of asbestos before demolition - bring the total number of destroyed homes to 38.

An additional 17 homes remain yellow-tagged as uninhabitable as crews put in new roofs and windows and repair electrical systems.

"I'm encouraged by the neighborhood resolve to rebuild," Aknin said. "It's a highly personal choice whether to rebuild. For those that do, we're ready to help them."

Some won't be back

Although no one has yet sold a vacant lot, residents said some homeowners - including relatives of those who were killed - had decided not to rebuild. PG&E has offered a bonus of as much as $50,000 to people who either rebuild quickly or sell to the utility.

On Tuesday, a piece of the neighborhood's future sat on a countertop at a rental home a mile away. Tina Pellegrini and her husband, Bob, laid out the architectural plans they turned in to the city last week for a new home at the corner of Claremont and Glenview.

The 1,430-square-foot house that the couple inherited from Bob Pellegrini's parents in 1990 burned down in the fire. Like Anderson, they decided to build back bigger, and the drawings showed a 2,600-square-foot home with five bedrooms, a wraparound porch and a fireplace - natural gas, as required by city code.

Tina Pellegrini said building her "dream house" was exciting, but was diminished by the circumstances.

"It's a have-to, not a want-to," she said.

Still, looking at the plans, she said, "This is the first tangible thing I can get my hands on. You do your real recovery when you're at home. I'm looking forward to being back there soon."

Form of therapy

Designing the home, the couple said, had distracted them from the stress brought on by their narrow escape from the fire, for which they sought therapy and took medication.

Bob Pellegrini remains on a disability leave from work. His wife said she gets scared and "hyper-vigilant" sometimes while driving. Often, when she is in a grocery store or restaurant, she said, she makes a mental inventory of possible escape routes.

"You're always trying to prevent the next disaster from happening," she said. "It's not a nice way to live."